


Unwrap (30 Days of Prompts)

by JoifulDreaming



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Mentioned Nanny Ashtoreth (Good Omens), corsets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:22:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27356443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoifulDreaming/pseuds/JoifulDreaming
Summary: It was a beautiful work of art, in and of itself, but it was the shape it pulled Crowley's body into that stole Aziraphale's breath.  That decadent curve to his waist had his hands itching to touch, to trace.  He fisted his hands at his sides to keep them from trembling from the want of it.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 46





	Unwrap (30 Days of Prompts)

**Author's Note:**

> For my NaNoWrimo project: 30 days of short story prompts.

“You look tired.”

“We don't get tired.”

“No, we don't need to sleep. We get tired. You get tired and you sleep.”

Crowley had wandered into Aziraphale's rooms, in the back garden of the estate, shortly after what he would assume was the child's bedtime. Although, come to think of it, it was a bit late even for that.

“Did the child give you a hard time today?”

“Nah, just being a kid. Lots of questions.”

“Hmm, I know you like that.”

Nanny's hat and coat hung on a rack by the door. Her tie and dark sunglasses were discarded on the coffee table. By now Crowley should have been in a relaxed sprawl, but he wasn't. He sat stiffly, staring ahead.

“Tea?”

“Sure, Angel.”

Something to fuss with, that's what he needed. Just a moment alone and something familiar to occupy himself. Really, he was reading too much into Crowley. He was always reading too much, paying the demon too much mind. So the serpent was tired. Well, weren't they both?

Aziraphale moved into the tiny kitchenette and put the kettle on, palms down on the counter as he waited for the water to boil. The only sound in the room was the kettle warming so the soft sigh behind him wasn't nearly as hidden as Crowley might have liked it to be. He took care in making Crowley's tea just how he liked it: steeped a little longer than the angel would prefer, but also with a little extra sugar. He would have drank it plain and bitter out in the world, but in here with Aziraphale he was safe to indulge. There was no one to impress, only an old friend. Neither of them would mention it, but Aziraphale would see the comforted droop in Crowley's shoulders after the first sip and that would be thanks enough. There were enough things in the world to be on the defense about: tea did not need to be one of them. Not here; not with him.

When he brought the mugs back to the sitting area, Crowley was still sitting stiffly in the chair, staring out over the yard with a pained expression on his face. Aziraphale sat the mugs down on the coffee table and knelt beside him, hesitating only a moment before placing a hand on the demon's knee. Even that gentle tough made Crowley jump.

“Ngk! Sorry, Angel, lost in thought.”

“Are you okay? I mean, really.”

“Sure, tip-top. Always okay, me.”

Aziraphale stared at him pointedly and watched as Crowley's put on smile melted around the edges.

“It's silly.”

“Perhaps you should let me be the judge of that.”

“I'm afraid,” Crowley sighed again, “that I'm rather stuck in my corset.”

Aziraphale couldn't help the way his eyes drifted downwards, to the gentle curve of Crowley's waist. Truth be told, he had been doing his best to ignore it as he did with all the shapes that Crowley twisted his body into. It was only, sometimes, when he was alone that he would indulge thinking about them... All of them. There was no shape of Crowley's that Aziraphale found unappealing. But, if this one caused him pain...

“But, my dear, we have been here for weeks... how-”

“At first, I was...” and here Crowley made a pulling up gesture, “but then I thought maybe we should take it easy on that. Wouldn't want the energy to draw unwanted attention.”

Now that he thought about it, Crowley had visited him for tea (or something slightly stronger than tea) every day the first week they had been here in disguise. But he hadn't seen the demon off nanny duty since then. Why hadn't he noticed that before now? He would never curse his ability to get lost in his books (because he had brought a few with him even for this trip), but sometimes they caused quite a bit of inattention.

“Wait, do you mean...” He instinctually reached for Crowley's middle, but stopped the movement halfway, looking up at his face, “How long have you been stuck in this thing?”

Crowley looked away, out over the yard again, and mumbled something.

“Tell me it hasn't been since the last time you were here.”

“I... can't.”

“Crowley.” It was a reproach and a pity, rolled into one.

“Well, it's not like I'm human. My body can handle it.” Aziraphale watched him try to curl in on himself defensively, but when realize he couldn't bend that way in the corset his lips drew flat in frustration and he sat up straight again.

“How long are you going to let it go on, then?” Aziraphale cocked his head and squeezed the knee still under his other hand, “until the child is grown and armageddon is postponed?”

“m'here, aren't I?” Crowley grumbled.

“And here I thought it was for the company.”

Crowley glared at him.

“Is that a request, dear?”

“... yes.” Crowley shifted uncomfortably in the chair and met his eyes in a series of darting movements.

“Well, up you get then,” this was not going to be a problem, Aziraphale thought, not at all. Friends helped friends out of corsets all the time, didn't they? How else was one to get in and out of one, after all? They seemed to require help by their very nature.

Aziraphale stood and backed up to give the demon room and thought that maybe, just maybe, he saw a smile of relief flash over his face before he turned away from him. He watched Crowley's elbows move as he made quick work of the buttons down the front of his shirt and then struggled to get it off his shoulders. Aziraphale gently plucked the shirt up and tugged it down his arms.

And so, he got his first look at the corset itself: it was mainly black, which was to be expected. But, it was decorated in swirling patterns of coiled red, too. At first he couldn't tell, but upon closer inspection, he realized the coils were that of one, long snake. The scales glittered in the low light of the room. The boning was golden and winked at him, too. It was a beautiful work of art, in and of itself, but it was the shape it pulled Crowley's body into that stole Aziraphale's breath. That decadent curve to his waist had his hands itching to touch, to trace. He fisted his hands at his sides to keep them from trembling from the want of it.

Crowley, seemingly entirely unaffected by the moment, tossed a glance over his shoulder.

“It ties at the top and bottom and laces all the way down.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath and let it out slowly. This was fine. He grasped the ties at the bottom and tugged, finding them easy enough to undo, before falling into a steady pattern of unlasing upwards. The task itself was repetitive enough that he was momentarily lost in it.

Until Crowley groaned softly.

“A-alright there?”

“Oh. Yeah. Just, it feels good to have it loosened.” He wiggled a little and Aziraphale lost his grip on the laces.

“Hold still, dear, I'm not finished yet.”

“Fussy.”

“Hmm.” He was most of the way up now and faced a new challenge: Crowley wore his hair a bit longer as Nanny and, well, it was right there... The almost unbearably soft-looking waves settled only a little above the last tie of the corset. He bit his lip and indulged in admiring them. Of course, he wouldn't tough them. That's not... That's not what they are.

“Taking a smoke break?”

“No,” Aziraphale laughed, if a bit higher than he normally would, and quickly finished unlacing the corset, pulling the top knot free. He helped Crowley lift it over his head and watched as the man before him relaxed for the first time in an uncounted number of days. He cleared his throat and gently set the corset on the coffee table beside their tea. It really was a lovely item, he would hate to see it ruined; or worse yet, to be the one who marred it.

“I'm sure that feels much bet...” he trailed off as he turned back, only now really taking in all the skin he'd uncovered. Really, that on it's own would have been arresting, but what stopped him in his tracks were the lines cross-crossing Crowley's back and sides. Clear marks where the seams had come together, where the boning had held him in, and where the laces had pressed, even over a layer of fabric.

“What was that?”

Aziraphale barely heard the question, his hand reaching out of it's own accord, fingers stroking along one of the lines that started at Crowley's hip and trailed upwards. He felt more than heard the sharp intake of breath under his hand. He should pull back. He would pull back. Any moment now.

But he wasn't pulling back. Instead, he was tracing another line back downwards- right along Crowley's spine. He heard the hiss just as he felt the shudder go through the man in front of him.

“Does it hurt?” Aziraphale was whispering and he wasn't sure why. Was it reverence? Was he trying not to get caught? Maybe the moment would shatter if he spoke too loudly.

“N-no,” Crowley's throat worked loudly in the quiet room, “no, that doesn't hurt.” He wasn't whispering, but his voice had mysteriously dropped a couple octaves. Also, importantly, he hadn't made a move to pull away or discourage Aziraphale's roaming fingers.

So, instead of pulling back, Aziraphale pressed his entire hand flat into the small of Crowley's back and stroked upwards, feeling the already-disappearing lines under his palm. Crowley's skin was much softer and warmer than he expected. Every bit he touched only made him want to touch more. He was losing his grip on why that was a bad idea. His palm reached the end of the marks and continued upward, along the back of Crowley's neck and into his hair. And it was, oh it was, every bit as silky as it looked. A sound left him, whether it sounded of pain or pleasure he couldn't say.

An answering whine drifted back to him as Crowley pressed his head backwards into his palm. His breath left him in a gust, his heart somehow feeling twice as large but also half as heavy, seeing this beautiful creature so willingly submit to his touch. He stepped forward, completely into Crowley's space, guiding the demon's head back onto his shoulder as he stroked down the side of his jaw, his neck, and then along his clavicle. He pressed forward against him, wishing briefly that he was disrobed, too, and he could feel all this warm skin against his own.

His other hand drifted up and settled to wrap around Crowley's hip, but didn't stay there long. It roamed upwards, counting the ribs along his side and feeling the lines the corset had left there, too. He felt the short panting breaths stirring in the lungs beneath his fingers. 

He drew his nose along the line of Crowley's arched and bared throat, taking in the scent of him: something dark and sweet like deep, red cherries. His hand had stopped, sprawled across Crowley's lower belly. The room was filled with the harsh sounds of his panting breath. Aziraphale couldn't hold out any longer, he drew his tongue along the arched line of Crowley's throat and then nipped it sharply.

“Angel, please!” Crowley sobbed, breaking any semblance of silence the room had held. Any denial that this was happening. Crowley was every bit as lost to this as he was. Aziraphale wanted to wander, lost in this experience with him.

Aziraphale soothed the spot with a kiss and then nuzzled up to his ear.

“What would you have me do, my darling?” He was idly stroking his thumb just under the demon's belly button. Crowley didn't respond with words. He grasped the hand on his belly and moved it downwards, pressing it to the front of his tight, and now tented, skirt.

“You're so beautiful, Crowley,” he murmured against the demon's neck as he traced him far too gently through the cloth. Crowley's hips bucked towards his hand, but he pulled back until he settled against him again before resuming his gentle touch. Crowley groaned, a sound of frustration that was belied by the twitching under Aziraphale's palm. He liked being teased, toyed with. That was a piece of information Aziraphale sent to the back of his mind for later consideration.

He trailed his other hand back up along Crowley's neck and into his hair, grasping it and gently pulling back, exposing more of his throat to his teeth and tongue. He watched Crowley's Adam's apple bob as the man attempted to swallow back his cries and whimpers.

His own control was slipping, though. He didn't think he could tease the man in his arms much longer. What he wanted was to take him apart, to see him loose and relaxed against him, both of them knowing that Aziraphale had given him that. Removing his teasing fingers, momentarily (he promised himself), he reached down and hiked up Crowley's skirt.

Crowley, himself, was lost to it. His hips thrust into open air, seeking out the return of Aziraphale's hand.

“Patience, serpent.”

“That's a virtue,” Crowley hissed, “I don't have any virtues.”

“We both know that isn't true,” Aziraphale nibbled on the shell of his ear, prompting an almost violent shiver to rattle through him, “but we can argue about that later.”

Now, he had wrapped his slickened hand around Crowley, tight enough to hold him, but loose enough to allow the demon to thrust into the grip. Crowley let out a guttural groan and thrust into his fingers with an every-increasing pace.

“Tighter, ah, tighter please,” he gripped Aziraphale's arm, as if to hold him in place. As if Aziraphale could stop what was happening, even if he wanted to. His eyes had been glued downwards, watching Crowley move between his fingers, but now as the man breaths of the man in his arms grew quicker and unsteady, he pulled back a bit so he could watch his face. He tightened his grip and that was all it took: Crowley's face screwed up in pained pleasure before he let out a high whimper as he came, pained pleasure giving way to utter relief.

He felt the moment Crowley's knees wobbled and caught him, pulling him in tightly to his own body and holding him there, peppering his neck and sweet, gentle kisses as his breaths slowed.

“So, uh, you liked the corset, huh?” Crowley had made no move to leave the circle of his arms. His grip on Aziraphale's arm had slackened, but he hadn't let go.

“Hmm, yes, I might. A bit.”

“A bit. Angel, you go on and tell me what you really like and I'll just go ahead and do it. I can't imagine.”

“Yes, I like the corset. But, Crowley, oh you know, don't you?”

Crowley had found his feet again, although the knees were still a bit iffy. He turned slowly, still keeping close to Aziraphale.

“Know what?”

“I like the corset because it's very you. And I love all the things that you love, because I love you.”

“Oh,” a blush crept up over Crowley's cheeks and, marvelously, down his chest as well (Aziraphale logged that thought as well), “you big, sappy Angel.”

“I don't think you mind, actually.” Aziraphale squeezed him close.

“No?”

“Not at all.”

“Hmm.”

“Crowley.”

“Yes, I love it. I love you, too. But I'll take it back if you keep grinning at me like-” Aziraphale cut him off with a kiss that made him lose his knees all over again.


End file.
